--one of the famous Draymore family noted
solely for their money and their tight grip on it; then came Sanxon
Orchil, the famous banker and promoter, small, urbane, dark, with that
rich almost oriental coloring which he may have inherited from his
Cordova ancestors who found it necessary to dehumanise their names when
Rome offered them the choice with immediate eternity as alternative.

Then came a fox-faced young man, Phoenix Mottly, elegant arbiter of all
pertaining to polo and the hunt--slim-legged, hatchet-faced--and more
presentable in the saddle than out of it. He was followed by Bradley
Harmon, with his washed-out colouring of a consumptive Swede and his
corn-coloured beard; and, looming in the rear like an amiable
brontasaurus, George Fane, whose swaying neck carried his head as a
camel carries his, nodding as he walks.

"Well!" said Selwyn, perplexed but cordial as he exchanged amenities
with each gentleman who entered, "this is a killing combination of
pleasure and mortification--because I haven't any more breakfast to
offer you unless you'll wait until I ring for the Sultana--"

"Breakfast! Oh, damn! I've breakfasted on a pill and a glass of vichy
for ten years," protested Draymore, "and the others either have
swallowed their cocktails, or won't do it until luncheon. I say, Selwyn,
you must think this a devilishly unusual proceeding."

"Pleasantly unusual, Draymore. Is this a delegation to tend me the
nomination for the down-and-out club, perhaps?"

Fane spoke up languidly: "It rather looks as though we were the
down-and-out delegation at present; doesn't it, Orchil?"

"I don't know," said Orchil; "it seems a trifle more promising to me
since I've had the pleasure of seeing Captain Selwyn face to face. Go
on, Percy; let the horrid facts be known."

"Well--er--oh, hang it all!" blurted out Draymore, "we heard last night
how that fellow--how Neergard has been tampering with our farmers--what
underhand tricks he has been playing us; and I frankly admit to you
that we're a worried lot of near-sports. That's what this dismal matinee
signifies; and we've come to ask you what it all really means."

"We lost no time, you see," added Orchil, caressing the long pomaded
ends of his kinky moustache and trying to catch a glimpse of them out of
his languid oriental eyes. He had been trying to catch this glimpse for
thirty years; he was a persistent man with plenty of leisure.

"We lost no time," repeated Draymore,